his American brother, clever person though he be, has one or two
things still to learn. He has, he declares, no philosophy of life.
It is true that he has learned the trick of making money, but in
the things which go to satisfy the soul he is still strangely
lacking. He thinks he is enjoying life, when really he is ignorant
of what life is. He admits it is not the American's fault, for he
has never been taught how to enjoy life. One must be educated to
that as everything else. All the American is taught is to be in a
perpetual hurry and to make money no matter how. In this mad daily
race for wealth, he bolts his food, not stopping to masticate it
properly, and consequently suffers all his life from dyspepsia. So
he rushes from the cradle to the grave, and what's the good, since
he must one day die like all the rest?

And what, asks the foreigner, has the American hustler
accomplished that his slower-going Continental brother has not
done as well? Are finer cities to be found in America than in
Europe, do Americans paint more beautiful pictures, or write more
learned or more entertaining books, has America made greater
progress in science? Is it not a fact that the greatest inventors
and scientists of our time--Marconi, who gave to the world
wireless telegraphy, Professor Curie, who discovered radium,
Pasteur, who found a cure for rabies, Santos-Dumont, who has
almost succeeded in navigating the air, Professor Rontgen who
discovered the X-ray--are not all these immortals Europeans? And
those two greatest mechanical inventions of our day, the
automobile and the submarine boat, were they not first introduced
and perfected in France before we in America woke up to appreciate
their use? Is it, therefore, not possible to take life easily and
still achieve?